She worked as an accountant at a local insurance company, was divorced, and had no children. They met at a senior citizens’ yoga class at the community center.
At first, we thought she might be taking advantage of him. But when we met her—kind, polite, soft-spoken—we noticed the way she looked at my father. And the way he looked at her. It wasn’t pity. It was peace.
Larissa wore a light pink dress, her hair up, her eyes filled with tenderness. My father seemed nervous but happy, like a young man in love for the first time.
That night, while everyone was helping to tidy up, my sister joked:
“Dad, try not to make any noise tonight, okay! The walls are thin!”
He laughed and replied:
“Oh, go mind your own business, you little rascal.”
Then he took Larissa’s hand and went into the master bedroom, the same one he had shared with my mother for over thirty years. We suggested he redecorate before the wedding, but he refused:
“Leaving it as it is gives me peace,” he said.
Around midnight, I was awakened by a noise. I thought it was the wind… or perhaps a cat in the garden. But then—a scream. High-pitched. Terrifying.
“No! Please… don’t do that!”
I pushed the door open.
And what I saw before my eyes… left me speechless.
My father was holding a huge bouquet of flowers he had prepared for her; he had planned a romantic surprise, but he tripped on the old rug, knocking everything to the floor. Larissa had fallen onto the bed, screaming in fright, but immediately began to laugh nervously. My father, blushing and laughing at the same time, apologized as he helped her up. Continue reading…
